


you make me feel so brand new

by kiranerys42



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Introspection, M/M, Podfic Welcome, Rimming, Romance, Valentine's Day, what is romance anyway?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 06:43:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21011456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiranerys42/pseuds/kiranerys42
Summary: David and Patrick navigate their first Valentine's Day as a couple.





	you make me feel so brand new

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [sunlightsymphony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunlightsymphony/pseuds/sunlightsymphony) in the [SCFrozenOver](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SCFrozenOver) collection. 

> **Prompt:** David’s disdain for Valentine’s Day is town-wide knowledge. Patrick outwardly agrees, remembering the “romantic” gifts and gestures that he performed solely out of obligation. But part of him wishes that he could over-write his past experiences with something genuine. Somehow, David figures this out.
> 
> Thank you to didipickles for stepping up at the last minute to be a very helpful beta and cheerleader.
> 
> The title is from "Let's Stay Together" by Al Green.
> 
> You can read the "weird poem about a bridge disaster" [here](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45828/the-tay-bridge-disaster).

December at Rose Apothecary was a whirlwind of activity. The store was swamped for weeks, right up until Christmas Eve. Then David and Patrick had closed the store for a week between Christmas and New Year’s to get some well-deserved rest. They’d had a few conversations about what to do with their week off—they’d even considered going to the spa in Elmdale for a few days—but it turned out they were too exhausted even for that, and they both ended up spending most of their week off sleeping and catching up on neglected chores. Patrick was so far behind on laundry that he’d almost run out of clean blue shirts to wear.

But January seemed to go on forever, dreary and slow. With the exception of the occasional return or exchange of a Christmas gift, it was as if the entire town had made the same New Year’s resolution: to stop shopping at Rose Apothecary. Patrick knew it was just the post-holiday lull, and things would pick back up again in a month or two; he also made sure to remind David of this when he was freaking out about the lack of business, which was at least once a day. But deep down, Patrick was feeling a bit anxious about it, too.

By the end of the month, things had picked up a bit again, mostly due to David’s hard work; he’d added several new recurring events at the store, including an early Wednesday morning knitting circle that was surprisingly popular. Patrick was grateful for all of David’s hard work, but he knew there was probably more they could be doing.

Then February rolled around, and Patrick had an idea.

“I think we should do something for Valentine’s Day,” Patrick said as he grabbed the broom so he could sweep the store. He’d swept last night, too, but they’d opened over an hour ago and no customers had come in yet, so he needed to do _something_ to keep busy.

“Um, Patrick? I already told you how I feel about Valentine’s Day.”

David had, in fact, been very clear about how he felt: he thought Valentine’s Day was tacky and stressful, and he preferred to pretend it didn’t exist. Patrick was pretty sure there was more to it than that, but he didn’t want to put any pressure on David to talk about it. He’d let David talk when he was ready. 

After what had happened with Rachel at the barbecue, Patrick had realized that he and David had never really talked about… things. Important things. Things that people in a relationship probably should talk about. So he’d been trying to be more open with David, more honest. One small, careful piece at a time, he’d started to tell David about Rachel: how he’d met her in Grade 9, how they’d immediately bonded over their mutual hatred for their biology teacher, and how their first date was at the pizza place next to the Rose Video where he’d worked. He’d even told David about the first time he and Rachel had broken up and gotten back together—not that time in Grade 12 when they’d broken up for half a day, but the first time it had happened for real, when they were at different universities and couldn’t figure out how to make a long-distance relationship work.

And David, in turn, had been opening up to Patrick. Not that David had ever _hidden_ anything, at least, not in the way Patrick had. But David’s occasional off-handed comments about his past relationships didn’t exactly have much substance, either. David had started with old stories, like the emotionally intense pen-pal relationship he’d had with Toni, and the _full_ story of the birthday clown. But David had also begun to talk about some of his more recent relationships, like what had happened with Sebastien—both before, in New York; and more recently, here in Schitt’s Creek. He’d even talked a bit about his relationship with Stevie. Not that David would call their brief stint as friends-with-benefits a “relationship,” but as far as Patrick was concerned, David definitely had a relationship with Stevie, even if it wasn’t ever a romantic one. 

Right—relationships. That’s what they were talking about. Relationships, and romance, and Valentine’s Day, and how David thought that Patrick meant _they_ should do something for Valentine’s Day, as a couple.

“Oh, no, I don’t—I didn’t mean that _we_ should do something for Valentine’s Day,” Patrick clarified. “I meant, we should do something for the store. Some sort of promotion, like a sale, or maybe a special event?”

“Hmm. Are you sure, though?” David was rearranging the scarf display for the third time that week. He kept going back and forth between sorting by color and fiber type. From what Patrick could see so far, it looked like today was a “sort by color” day. “Between the knitting circle and the wine-tasting class, do you think we really _need_ to? It’s just,” David wrinkled his nose, “Bright red hearts and cupids don’t fit our aesthetic.”

“David, I really appreciate all the hard work you’ve been doing to draw more people to the store, and it’s definitely been helping. But I think this could really make a difference.” Patrick leaned the broom against the wall and walked over to David. He reached out to take David’s hand and absent-mindedly stroked his rings. “People like Valentine’s Day. It’s romantic.”

“It’s tacky,” David turned his hand to interlace his fingers with Patrick’s and pull him closer. “Tacky things aren’t romantic.”

“How about you let me come up with a plan, and then you can tell me if it meets your approval,” Patrick leaned in for a kiss. “I promise it won’t be tacky,” he whispered against David’s lips.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Patrick couldn’t see David’s smile, because they were still too close; but he could hear it in his voice, and he could feel it as David wrapped his arms around him and kissed him some more.

David’s hands had just begun to wander scandalously low when the bell on the door jingled.

“We’re closed,” David snapped.

Patrick sighed. They really couldn’t afford to scare away a customer right now. He pulled away from David and did his best to ignore how tight his jeans felt at the moment and put a professional look on his face. “Actually, we’re _not_ closed; how can we help you?”

* * *

Patrick was just beginning to realize how many parts of his life he’d never put much thought into; how he’d never really stopped to consider how he actually felt about... anything important, really. Including Valentine’s Day, which had always been yet another part of his life in which he simply went through the motions: Rachel would insist that she “didn’t care” about Valentine’s Day in a way that made it clear she did, in fact, care; Patrick would provide some combination of flowers, chocolates, and a fancy dinner date; and if they weren’t too tired after all the food, wine, and chocolate, maybe they’d have sex. Then the whole ordeal would repeat on their anniversary in April; and on their new, post-breaking-up-and-getting-back-together anniversary in August; and eventually on the following Valentine’s Day. It all felt like a routine, as if Patrick had an autopilot setting for “romantic obligations.”

Patrick’s autopilot setting did not work for David. None of Patrick’s old way of doing things worked for David, because Patrick’s old way of doing things was based on what he thought he should do, not on what he actually wanted to do. It wasn’t that Patrick didn’t want to give David gifts, or do nice things for him; quite the opposite, in fact. He wanted to shower David with gifts, partly because David deserved good things, but mostly so that he could see David’s reaction. How he’d be so secretly thrilled, and outwardly mortified, and genuinely happy, all at once—Patrick could tell that it was overwhelming for David, and it made Patrick feel that way, too; overwhelmed by his emotions in a way he was not at all accustomed to. 

After Rachel had showed up at the barbecue, when David had told Patrick that he needed some time, Patrick had tried _so hard_ to give him space. He’d spent what felt like every waking moment reminding himself to respect David’s wishes. But they’d had to text each other about the store, and two days later they were texting about other things, too. And then Patrick had started sending gifts. Of course, now he knew how much David had appreciated the gifts, and he was glad; but in hindsight, he realized he’d been falling into old habits. He’d won Rachel back—well, not _won_ her back, she wasn’t a prize to be won—but, they’d gotten back together at least twice after Patrick had sent her a gift, or made a big romantic gesture, or some combination of the two. 

But Patrick didn’t want to revert to his old ways. He didn’t want to use gifts simply as a means to an end, or as a tool to get his partner to do what he wanted. And he didn’t want to just go through the motions, doing things that seemed romantic simply because of some vague feeling that he “should” do them. Patrick didn’t ever want to be on relationship autopilot again. He knew the difference now, between that and the real thing; and there was no comparison. 

So if David wanted Patrick to ignore Valentine’s Day, then that’s what Patrick would do. It was probably for the best, considering his past experiences with the holiday. But even if he wasn’t going to _do_ anything for Valentine’s Day, Patrick figured he could at least try to find a way to make the holiday benefit the store. David would like that. 

* * *

Patrick decided to stay late at the store to work on his plan for Valentine’s Day. But the moment that David walked out the door, leaving him there alone, he realized there was a reason that David made all the creative decisions. Patrick had no idea where to begin. The only remotely “creative” thing he’d done at the store was the open mic.

Actually—that wasn’t a half bad idea. They’d skipped the December open mic because it would have coincided with the Jazzagals holiday concert. And January’s open mic had been a sad affair, with only a few people showing up. But if he rescheduled the February open mic so it was earlier in the month, maybe just a day or two before Valentine’s Day… they could feature love songs, and offer a discounted cover charge to couples who attended—or, no, maybe free drink tickets would be better. People buy more when they’re drunk.

And instead of just selling their usual products, maybe they could put together some pre-packaged gift baskets, like the ones David had made to sell for Christmas. But what belonged in a romantic gift basket?

Patrick grabbed a wicker basket from the stockroom, then began wandering the store, tossing items in the basket as he went. The first thing to catch his eye was the sweet almond oil that David had used to give Patrick a massage a few weeks ago, when Ray had been out of town and they’d some rare privacy; ever since, Patrick had gotten a little turned on every time he’d caught a whiff of the oil. He’d been looking forward to a chance to return the favor, but he wanted to do a good job, and he wasn’t very confident on his massage techniques. 

Patrick took his phone out of his pocket and added “Google massage tips” to his to-do list, then he turned his attention back to the task at hand.

He stood in front of the tea selection for a moment, staring into the middle distance somewhere beyond the tea as he pondered a question he’d never thought to ask himself before: is tea romantic? Patrick wasn’t sure. He shrugged, threw some of the chamomile tea David had started drinking before bed in the basket, and moved on to the next thing.

Candles seemed more definitively romantic. He picked one up and sniffed it, despite the fact that he knew exactly what all their candles smelled like; David had insisted that he smell each and every one of them. He picked up a rose-scented candle, decided that was too on the nose, and went with French vanilla instead.

Once he’d added a bottle of David’s favorite wine and some of those new chocolates David seemed to like, the basket was nearly full. He finished with a packet of breath mints, because as David had told him many times, kissing without fresh breath was incorrect.

Patrick set the basket down on the counter and stood back to admire his handiwork. He was feeling pretty proud of himself, because he thought it was a good couples’ gift basket—or, at least, it would be a good basket for him and David. Well, maybe just for David. From Patrick.

Great. He’d inadvertently made a gift basket specifically for his boyfriend. Consisting entirely of items from their own store.

Patrick sighed, and began unpacking the basket so he could try again.

* * *

David quickly agreed to the themed open mic idea, and he only made a few small changes to the gift basket Patrick had painstakingly managed to put together. However, David had refused to let Patrick decorate without his guidance, so on the day of the open mic, they got to the store an hour before opening to put up decorations.

Or at least, Patrick got there an hour before opening, with tea for himself and a caramel macchiato for David. He started putting up the red and white streamers David had pre-approved, hoping he wouldn’t have to move them once David got there.

David arrived twenty minutes later, looking annoyed and wordlessly accepting the still-mostly-warm coffee Patrick handed him before he went back to wrangling the streamers.

“So,” David began, his voice still low and scratchy from sleep, “I know I said I’d be here tonight to help with the open mic, but Stevie just told me someone called and insisted on booking the love room for Valentine’s Day—she’s pretty sure it’s actually Roland and Jocelyn, which I’m trying very hard _not_ to think about—so, I have to help her move all my clothes out of there tonight. I’m sorry.” 

“The love room?” Patrick asked, confused. 

“Oh, it’s this gross room at the motel that no one ever uses. The bed has red sheets with a depressingly low thread count, and there’s a mirror on the ceiling. It’s disgusting.”

Patrick couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re telling me that there’s a spare room at the motel that never gets used? And that’s where you keep all your clothes?”

“Yes, that’s what I just said. Did you drink your tea yet? Are you not fully awake?” David quirked an eyebrow in an expression somewhere between teasing and genuine concern. “Would you like some of my coffee?”

Patrick ignored David’s offer; he knew there was no way David would actually share his coffee. “We’ve been dealing with constant interruptions from Ray, or your sister, and—and making out in the stockroom, and all this time, there’s been a _vacant motel room_ you failed to mention?”

David balked. “We can’t have sex in the love room.”

“It sounds to me like that’s exactly what it’s for, based on the name and your general description of it.”

“No, we can’t have sex in the love room because—” David cut himself off. “We just can’t.”

“Well, why not?” Patrick couldn’t help but think about the sweet almond oil he’d set aside in the stockroom, even though he had no good reason to be saving it; David had made it clear he didn’t want to do anything for Valentine’s Day, and Patrick had no idea when they’d next get a chance at some privacy, anyway. He’d just thought—he’d hoped, that maybe—well. And now here he was, learning they’d had an opportunity _right there_ all along, and David had somehow failed to mention it.

“We can’t do anything in the love room, because that’s where I—that’s where Stevie and I hooked up. Back when we were, um.” David pressed his lips together. “When that was a thing that we did.”

“We’ve had sex _in Stevie’s bed!_” Patrick exclaimed, gesturing wildly; he’d forgotten he was still holding streamers, and they waved in the air as he moved his arms. He felt ridiculous. The whole situation felt ridiculous. Patrick didn’t care about David’s past; he didn’t care who he’d had had sex with, or where he’d had sex with them. He especially didn’t care if the person in question was Stevie, because Stevie was important to David; David might never admit to it, but she was obviously his best friend. Hell, Patrick was _glad_ they’d had sex in the love room, back when David had first moved to Schitt’s Creek. Patrick knew how hard that had been for David, how lonely and lost he’d felt at the time. He was glad that David had been able to find someone to connect with; someone to make him feel good, and happy, and loved; someone he could trust, back when he was just beginning to learn how to trust people. 

“But I’ve never had sex with _Stevie_ in her bed, remember?” David said, as if that was a perfectly reasonable thing to say. “Anyway, none of this matters right now, because the love room is booked tomorrow night.”

“But it’s not booked tonight, is it?” Patrick asked.

“Um, no, actually, I’m—I was planning on sleeping there tonight,” David said in a rush, “because I’m going to move all my clothes onto my bed, which means I won’t be able to sleep in my room, and I’m _really_ sorry, but I just—I can’t—” David stammered, stopped to collect himself, then continued softly, “I don’t think I can do it, Patrick. It would be too weird. I’m sorry.”

“What if…” Patrick began, then stopped himself. He really, _really_ wanted some time alone with David, but he didn’t want to make David uncomfortable. “What if we just sleep there, tonight? We don’t get a chance to do that much, either; at least not without Ray waking us up in the morning to ask what we want for breakfast.” Patrick set down the streamers and put his arms around David. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

David quirked the side of his mouth up in a half-smile. “That sounds nice. I think I’d like that,” he said as he leaned in to kiss Patrick.

A moment later, Patrick pulled away. “Wait, what’s your plan for _tomorrow_ night, then?”

David’s mouth twisted sheepishly. “Um, so, I was going to ask—can I sleep at your place tomorrow?”

“I don’t know, David, are you prepared to deal with Ray in the morning?” Patrick kissed David again, but it wasn’t much of a kiss, because he couldn’t stop smiling.

“So long as he makes us pancakes,” David replied.

* * *

David had hoped to at least stay until closing, but he ended up needing to leave a couple hours early to help put out a fire at the motel. Not a literal fire, of course, but a metaphorical one—something about one of Mrs. Rose’s wigs going missing.

Patrick wasn’t disappointed that David couldn’t be there for the open mic. Really, he wasn’t. David didn’t usually come to the open mics, anyway, not since that first one, and it wasn’t like Patrick had planned anything special. Patrick was pretty sure he’d already filled his quota of “romantic gestures at an open mic” for an entire lifetime. 

So he put a smile on his face, sang “Let’s Stay Together,” tried to keep the smile on his face as Twyla read a weird poem about a bridge disaster, and sold as many drink tickets, gift baskets, and bottles of wine as he could.

When the open mic was finally over, Patrick grabbed the massage oil and a bottle of wine on his way out. Then he had to stop by home for a quick shower and a change of clothes, and he threw some condoms and a bottle of lube in his bag, just in case David decided he wanted to—although, he’d been pretty clear that he didn’t want to. Patrick definitely wasn’t going to push things, but it was good to be prepared. He hesitated as he reached for his butt plug—were butt plugs romantic? He’d never had to consider that question before. Not that he was trying to be romantic. So it didn’t actually matter if butt plugs were romantic or not. But just in case they weren’t, he decided to leave it at home.

He pulled out his phone to text David.

** _Patrick [10:03pm]: On my way, be there in a few minutes._ **

David texted back almost immediately.

** _David [10:04pm]: ok, bring food please_ **

**_David [10:04pm]: and wine, maybe?_** 🍷 **_it’s been a long day_**

Patrick stared at his phone for a moment, then replied.

** _Patrick [10:05pm]: You do realize the cafe closed over an hour ago, right? Where am I supposed to get you food?_ **

** _David [10:06pm]: idk bring me something from Ray’s?_ **

Patrick slung his bag over his shoulder and headed downstairs to see what he could scrounge up from Ray’s kitchen. He arrived at the motel twenty minutes later with two hastily-made peanut butter & jelly sandwiches, a bag of Hickory Sticks, and a slightly bruised apple.

“Did you think I was asking you to feed a six-year-old?” David said, wrinkling his nose as he bit gingerly into his sandwich.

“I haven’t—” Patrick stopped to clear his throat; the peanut butter was so sticky that it was making it difficult to talk. “I haven’t gone grocery shopping for a while,” he continued, “and when Ray’s too busy to cook, this is pretty much how he eats. I’m sorry I didn’t text you sooner, that way I could’ve brought something from the store.”

“No, this is fine. We can’t afford to mark out too many things right now, anyway,” David said, finishing his sandwich and reaching for the apple. “Did you want this, or—”

Patrick couldn’t respond verbally because he had a mouth full of peanut butter, so he did his best to gesture that David should go ahead and eat the apple, which was difficult since he had a sandwich in one hand and some Hickory Sticks in the other.

“Mmkay, you obviously need something to wash down that sandwich with, so let’s open this bottle of wine. You brought a corkscrew, right?” David began digging through Patrick’s bag, but then he froze, his eyes widening.

That’s when Patrick remembered what was in his bag.

“David—” he tried to say, but it just started a coughing fit.

David slowly unpacked everything—the corkscrew he’d been looking for, but also the massage oil, condoms, and lube.

“Patrick?” he said quietly, then took a deep breath. “I did tell you that I didn’t want to—that I’m not… that we’re not having sex tonight. I did say that, right? Was I… unclear?”

“David,” Patrick managed to get out. “You were very clear. I wasn’t—I just wanted to be on the safe side. In case you changed your mind.”

“In case you convinced me to change my mind,” David muttered.

“No! It’s not like that. We don’t have to… I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with. I promise.” Patrick reached out to rest a hand on David’s shoulder. “I just thought that maybe, once we were in here, you might realize it wasn’t as big of a deal as you’d expected it to be.”

“You mean, once you’d wooed me with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,” David said, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly.

“Well, that wasn’t part of the initial plan, although I’m always willing to improvise,” Patrick teased. “But seriously—we don’t have to do anything. I will admit to having a hard time understanding why it’s so weird for you, though. Because it really doesn’t bother me at all.”

“Would you want to have sex with me somewhere you’d had sex with Rachel?” David picked up the bottle of wine and began removing the cork.

“That’s different,” Patrick said without thinking.

“How is it different?” David asked, removing the cork with a _pop_ and pouring a generous portion of wine into a glass before handing it to Patrick.

Patrick had been worried David would ask that. “I don’t know,” he said, and it was true; he didn’t know. Deep down he wasn’t even sure if it _was_ different, but he wasn’t going to say that. “It just is. Maybe because it’s unlikely to actually happen.” Patrick paused to take a sip of wine. “I guess I thought that if you’re distracted by old memories, we could try just... making some new ones.”

“Mmm.” David poured some wine for himself, then sat down on the bed and took a sip, a thoughtful look on his face. “I’ll admit, the idea of forgetting some of what happened in here is appealing.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean—” Patrick stuttered. “I don’t want you to forget anything. I’m not trying to…” He struggled to find the right words to explain how he felt about David and Stevie’s past. “What happened with you and Stevie, it wasn’t _bad_, right? I mean, I’d imagine it was—um—a positive experience for both of you.”

David raised an eyebrow. “Are you telling me you want to hear the details? Is this a kink for you, or something?”

Patrick blushed. “No, I—definitely don’t need any details. Unless you want to share them, I guess? Is that something you’re into?”

“God, no,” David said, “that would be _so weird_.”

“Alright, so we’re in agreement; neither of us wants me to know any details about the sex you had with Stevie.”

They both continued to drink their wine. Once David finished his glass, he picked up the bottle of massage oil and began examining it.

“You do realize oil and condoms are not compatible,” David said.

“Yes, I—”

“—and that we probably shouldn’t get oil all over these sheets; you know how hard it was to wash out last time—”

Patrick set down his wine and put his face in his hands. “I _know_,” he said, his voice muffled by his hands. “I just—I was overthinking things. Or under-thinking things, maybe. I wanted tonight to be special.”

David blinked. “Why is tonight special?”

“Because it’s Valentine’s Day! Or, it’s—Valentine’s Day Eve, I guess, and we’re not going to get a _real_ Valentine’s Day, because we’ll be spending the night at Ray’s. And I know you said you think it’s tacky, and you don’t want to do anything special, and that _I_ said that was fine, and it’s not important to me, but—maybe it is. Important to me.” Patrick looked up, meeting David’s eyes. “I’m sorry.” 

“Oh,” David breathed. “Well, if it’s that important to you—um, we could go out to dinner tomorrow night. There’s that new Thai place in Elmdale you’ve been wanting to try. Or we could—maybe—since you brought the oil, I guess I could give you a massage if we put a towel down, or put some different sheets on the bed, but I don’t know if a happy ending is in the cards—”

“I wanted to give _you_ a massage,” Patrick interrupted. “I wanted to do... romantic things. To take care of you. But instead, I brought you a disappointing dinner, and massage oil we can’t use, and not even your favorite wine, just the cheapest one we sell at the store.” Patrick knew he was getting a little too worked up over this, but he couldn’t stop. “And I can’t—we can’t even afford to get a hotel in Elmdale for the night. We’re stuck here, in this room that you don’t want to be in, or back at Ray’s, and we can’t—get any _privacy,_ and—”

“Hey,” David said, reaching out and taking hold of Patrick’s hand. “I had a long day and didn’t get time to eat, so you brought me dinner and wine. The store has been—um, struggling a bit—so you planned a Valentine’s Day-themed open mic. _And_ you ran the whole thing by yourself so that I could move my clothes and figure out what the hell happened to my mom’s wig.” He paused to take a deep breath. “We don’t need a fancy dinner or a hotel or massage oil. You already took care of me, Patrick. Now let me take care of you.”

Patrick hadn’t thought of it that way. He’d been trying so hard to avoid thinking about Valentine’s Day, he hadn’t realized what he’d actually been thinking, which was how much he wanted to do something—romantic, or out of the ordinary, or special; how much he wanted to make David feel special. He hadn’t stopped to think about all the little things he already did every day for David, and how maybe those were the things that really mattered.

He also hadn’t considered that David might be feeling the same way he did; that _David_ might want to take care of him, or buy him gifts, or do something… well, something romantic.

“I guess, I just never—I mean—with Rachel,” Patrick began. He didn’t look at David, but he knew David was listening. He was probably biting his lip and sitting on his hands, like he usually did whenever Patrick started to talk about Rachel; as if he needed to restrain himself from speaking or reaching out. Patrick appreciated how hard David worked to give him the space he needed to talk, but he couldn’t look right at David while he was doing it; it was too distracting.

“With Rachel,” he continued, “I was always the one to… buy the gifts. To make the plans. I was always the one giving. Not that—it isn’t like she never did nice things for me. But the big romantic holidays—like Valentine’s Day and anniversaries—those were always about me doing something for her. I’m not used to people doing those sorts of things for me.”

“What sorts of things?” David prompted.

“Giving me flowers, or chocolates, or, um—a massage. An impromptu lip-sync performance.” Patrick risked a glance at David, and saw that his mouth was twisting into a smile.

“And do you like it?” David asked. “I mean, when I give you gifts or do, um, romantic things. Does that… work for you?”

“Yes,” Patrick said immediately, although from the look on David’s face, he’d already knew the answer. “I love it, David.”

David’s little half-smile grew into a rare full smile—an actual grin, with his teeth showing and everything. Patrick’s breath caught at the sight. 

“I’m glad,” David whispered as he leaned in to kiss Patrick. The kiss started out slow and sweet, but it quickly grew heated, and a few minutes later David pulled back, gasping—

“I want to—Patrick, let me take care of you.” David cupped the back of Patrick’s head with one hand, and snuck the other under his sweater to stroke the bare skin on his lower back. 

Patrick swallowed hard and tried to ignore how turned on he was. “By ‘take care of me,’ do you mean—”

“I want you to feel taken care of. Um—” David pulled back, looking a little embarrassed. “—and I realize that’s… basically the same thing I just said. What I mean is, I want to be the one doing the taking care of tonight. Ugh, I think that’s just another way of saying the same thing. But does it make sense? Is that okay?”

“It’s—yes, David, I want that,” Patrick managed, distracted by the fact that David’s hand was now stroking his thigh, and if David would move his hand just a little bit higher, he’d—

“But I don’t want—you said,” Patrick continued, reluctantly pushing David’s hand off his thigh. “You said you didn’t want to do anything here. Because of—you know.”

“Mmhm, well now I want—I want _you_, more than I want to avoid, um, any potential awkwardness.” David gave Patrick another kiss; a teasing, filthy kiss, with just a hint of tongue. Patrick gasped as David pulled away and kissed his way up Patrick’s jaw. “Let’s do what you said earlier—let’s make some new memories here. For both of us.”

“That sounds good,” Patrick agreed. “What—what did you have in mind, for these—new memories?”

Abruptly, David stood up. “Take all your clothes off and lie down on your stomach,” he said as he pulled off his sweater and began carefully folding it.

“But what if I want to see you,” Patrick complained as he began taking his own sweater off.

“Look up,” David replied.

Patrick looked up, and saw his own face looking back at him.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding about the mirror.”

“Trust me, you’ll like this better.” David was somehow down to just his underwear, with his sweater and jeans neatly folded on top of the dresser. Patrick had only managed to get his sweater off. 

“But what if I want to enjoy the view?” Patrick stood up to take off his jeans and underwear. “I’ve never had sex with a ceiling mirror before. Who knows? I might like it.”

“Mmkay, well I _don’t_ like it, so—yes, that’s it,” David said as he grabbed Patrick by the shoulders to spin him around and push him face-down onto the bed. “Just like that.”

“Okay, now what?” Patrick grumbled. He turned his head to the side to see what David was doing, because he hadn’t joined Patrick on the bed yet, and—oh, he was grabbing the condoms and lube; that was a good idea.

“Now you relax and enjoy yourself.” Patrick felt David climb onto the bed and straddle him, settling his weight on Patrick’s thighs. At some point, David must have taken off his underwear, because Patrick could feel his half-hard cock resting against his ass. 

“It’d be easier to relax if you’d tell me what you— _oh_.” Patrick let out a groan as David dug his elbow into a knot in Patrick’s back.

“I’m not—you’re not getting a real massage,” David apologized. “I just want you to relax a bit before I move on to the next part of the plan.”

“Mmph,” Patrick replied.

A while later—Patrick wasn’t sure how long, because he’d lost all sense of time—David leaned down and pressed his front against Patrick’s back. Patrick could feel now that David was completely hard, and he tried to wriggle his hips, just a little bit, to get some friction against David—but he could barely move at all with David’s weight on top of him like this. David nuzzled the back of Patrick’s neck, then began kissing his way down Patrick’s spine, which had the unfortunate result of removing both his weight and his cock from Patrick’s back.

“Mm, no, come back, I wanna—I want you on top of me.” Patrick reached back and ran his hand through David’s hair. “It feels good,” he said, and he _knew_ he was whining, and that normally he’d be embarrassed, but right now he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“This will feel good too,” David promised. “Here, just lift a little—yeah, like that.” Patrick lifted his hips a little bit so that David could slide his arms under Patrick’s thighs. 

Patrick was practically vibrating with anticipation as David kissed down his lower back towards his ass, completely bypassing where Patrick assumed he was headed and moving down to gently kiss and lick his balls for a moment before coming back up and pressing more kisses to his back. 

Just when Patrick was getting to the point of contemplating begging, David finally found his way where Patrick wanted him to go, where Patrick _needed_ him to go, and it felt—oh god—

Patrick had been so nervous the first time David had rimmed him. He’d thought it sounded weird and a little bit gross. But David had been so obviously eager to do it, even while he was trying to hold back that eagerness so that he wouldn’t put any pressure on Patrick. Of course, it turned out there was nothing for Patrick to be nervous about. Well, his concerns hadn’t been entirely off base—it was definitely weird, and he still thought it was a little gross. But it also felt _really fucking good_. The closest Patrick had ever come to getting off without touching his dick had been when David was rimming him. It hadn’t happened yet, but—well, maybe someday.

Patrick had returned the favor, once; David had clearly enjoyed it, but it hadn’t seemed as mind-blowing for him as it was for Patrick. Patrick wasn’t sure yet if that was just because their bodies were different, or if it was because he needed to work on his technique. (He hadn’t been able to bring himself to google “rimming tips” yet, but he was definitely considering it). But Patrick figured that whatever David was doing to him was as good a starting point as any, because it felt _so_ good. So he tried to focus on what David was doing, making mental notes for next time he got a chance to do this to David, whenever that was; maybe even later tonight, if—

David pulled away, and Patrick whimpered, reaching one hand back to try to blindly grope for David’s head. “Why’d you _stop_—”

“I can hear you thinking. It’s distracting.”

“How can you _hear_ me thinking?”

“Your thoughts are loud.”

Patrick raised his head slightly so he could thump it back down against the pillow. “I can’t just turn my brain off, David.”

“I know. That’s what the rimming is for, to turn your brain off. But you have to work with me here.”

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be _doing_. I can’t do much from here.”

“Just—enjoy yourself.”

“I _was_ enjoying myself. Then you stopped.”

David sighed frustratedly. Patrick could feel the puff of breath from David’s sigh, and _fuck_, even that felt good. 

“Just try not to think so loudly, okay?”

“Fine, I— _oh_,” Patrick said as David started rimming him again, even more enthusiastically this time. It was as if David thought that maybe, if he tried hard enough, he really _could_ use his tongue to reach right through Patrick’s ass to his brain and tell it to _shut up_.

But Patrick knew himself, he knew he couldn’t just— _stop thinking_, not unless he was also _doing_ something, and right now he was doing literally nothing. But maybe—oh _fuck_, how did David _do_ that?—maybe David was right; this wasn’t the time for Patrick to be thinking about whether he could do _that_ with his tongue. David had said that he wanted to take care of Patrick, to make him feel good; and here Patrick was, getting distracted by thinking about how much _he_ wanted to make _David_ feel good. It was ridiculous. If Patrick wanted to make David happy, he should listen to what David wanted _right now_, which was apparently to—okay, Patrick _definitely_ couldn’t do that with his tongue, there was simply no way.

David pulled away again, and it was only then that Patrick realized how close he was to coming. Patrick opened his mouth to ask David why he’d stopped, but whatever sound came out, it definitely wasn’t words.

“Shh, I’ve got you; hold on for just a second, baby—”

Patrick felt David shift his weight to the side of the bed, he heard a few sounds—a quiet shuffling, the _click_ of the bottle of lube, and the crinkle of a condom wrapper being opened. 

Then he felt David’s fingers against his hole, and they were _wet_—oh, that must be the lube—and then they were _inside_ of him, and that was even better. Patrick ground back against David, not even sure exactly what he wanted. He didn’t know if he wanted David to go deeper, or faster, or harder; he just wanted _more_. 

Then Patrick realized that without David’s arms under his thighs, he could grind down against the mattress and get some friction on his cock, which was leaking a _lot_—fuck, they’d have to wash the sheets—but that was a problem for future Patrick. 

“Look at you, so eager.” David stroked one hand soothingly up and down Patrick’s side as he writhed back and forth, torn between trying to get some friction on his cock and trying to fuck himself with David’s fingers. Just as Patrick was really starting to get into it, David took his hand away, and Patrick whimpered; it wasn’t fair, David kept stopping just as he was almost there—

But then Patrick felt David’s weight on top of him, and he felt David push him into the mattress as he slowly pressed into him. Patrick knew he’d probably made a sound, but he wasn't sure, because he wasn't very aware of his own body beyond the feeling of David's weight on top of him; the feeling of David inside him; the feeling of being surrounded by and consumed by David. 

“How's that, hmm? Can I move now?” he heard David murmur in his ear. 

Patrick nodded vigorously, moaning and twisted his head to the side so he could try to kiss David; but the angle wasn't quite right, and all he managed to do was mouth and lick at the stubble on David's jaw. 

David still wasn't moving, which meant Patrick probably hadn't made his response clear enough. He knew, in theory, that he just needed to tell David to move. He was just—having trouble with words at the moment. 

“Please,” he managed, and that was enough. David pressed a kiss to his cheek, then began slowly but firmly fucking him into the mattress. 

At once, Patrick could tell he was close—too close. He wasn’t going to last, he was going to come _so_ quickly, and that was a problem. Patrick didn’t like to be fucked after he came, so David wouldn’t—

“David,” he said urgently.

David immediately stopped moving. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m gonna—I’m close, David,” he said, feeling his face flush with arousal and a little bit of shame. 

“Good,” David said matter-of-factly, then he grabbed Patrick’s hips and began fucking him again. Patrick missed the feeling of having David pressed against his back, but at this angle, David could get more leverage, and fuck him even harder. It was _so_ good, but also not good at all.

“No, I—I want you to,” Patrick said once he could bring himself to form words. His voice shaking. “I want—”

“Shh; let’s get you off, then we’ll worry about me, okay?” 

“Uh-huh.” Patrick nodded as best he could with his head pressed against the pillow. David was right, Patrick could get him off after. Maybe he’d just jerk him off, or—oh, that’s right, he was thinking about rimming him, but he still wasn’t sure if he could do that _thing_ with his tongue—

“Stop. Thinking. So. Hard.” David said, punctuating each word with a thrust. He let go of Patrick’s hips and leaned forward, once again pressing himself flush against Patrick’s back. David reached one hand up to rest on Patrick’s head, and he kept fucking him, although not quite as deeply as before. Patrick was just on the verge of trying to articulate the incredibly complicated thought of “harder, please” when he felt David slide a hand down to stroke his dick. David couldn’t really jerk him off properly like this, with Patrick pressed into the mattress, but just the feeling of David’s hand on his cock made Patrick let out an embarrassing yelp. Not that Patrick was capable of feeling embarrassed at the moment.

“Yeah, you like that?” David asked, his breath hot against the back of Patrick’s neck. “Are you gonna come for me?”

“I—” Patrick was breathing so heavily, he could barely get a word out before he gasped for more air. “Uh-huh,” he managed, and his entire body tensed as he came. Moments later, still tingling from the aftershocks, Patrick realized that he’d grabbed David’s hand, the one that had been on his head; or perhaps David had taken hold of his hand, he couldn’t be sure. Patrick was holding David’s hand so tightly that he could feel David’s rings cutting into his skin; he knew that couldn’t be comfortable for David, so he loosened his grip.

Then Patrick let out a garbled sound that was somewhere between a sigh, a moan, and the word “fuck.” David’s laughter made both their bodies shake.

The next thing Patrick was aware of was of David’s hand on his face, coaxing him to sit up so he could take a sip of water—wait, why was he lying on his back? And it was dark, now, as if someone had turned the lights off—oh, that was probably David; he must have turned the lights off. Patrick was glad, because it would probably be hard to fall asleep if they could see their reflections in the ceiling mirror. He thought about thanking David, but that seemed like an awful lot of work, so instead he fell asleep.

At some point, Patrick was pretty sure he felt David kiss him and say “see you later,” but it might have been a dream. 

* * *

Patrick was rudely awakened by a knock on the door.

“Patrick?” he heard Stevie yell from the other side of the door. “Can I come in?”

Slowly, Patrick blinked his eyes open and took stock of the situation. He had no idea what time it was, but there was sunlight streaming in around the curtains, so it must have been morning. Or maybe even afternoon? He was still naked, and he couldn’t see where his clothes were, although they must be around somewhere. He was covered in dried sweat and come and felt absolutely disgusting. David was gone.

“Um, sure,” Patrick replied, pulling the sheets up to cover himself.

“Well, it looks like you two had fun last night,” Stevie said as she shut the door behind her. 

That’s when Patrick remembered why David had been so reluctant to do this in the first place: he’d had sex with Stevie, right here in this room, in this _bed_.

David was right. It was really awkward.

“Um, we—yeah, I guess,” Patrick stammered.

“David asked me to make sure you were awake by 10. He already went in and opened the store without you. You’ll need to go take over for him so that he can come back and clean the room, because I am _not_ doing that for you.”

“Isn’t that your job, though?” Patrick asked before he could stop himself. He didn’t have much of a filter before he’d had his morning tea.

“For paying customers. Are you going to pay me?” Stevie held out her hand as if to accept Patrick’s money.

“I would, but I’m pretty sure you don’t want me to get out of this bed right now.”

“Oh _god_, you’re—that’s it. I’m leaving. Try to at least put some clothes on before you leave the room.”

A half hour later, Patrick was showered, dressed, and walking through the front door of Rose Apothecary. The moment he entered the store, David was there to greet him.

“Hi,” David breathed as he leaned in to give Patrick a kiss that was honestly far too passionate for the time or location. Not that Patrick was complaining.

“Good morning,” Patrick murmured as David pulled away.

“How are you feeling?” David asked smugly.

“Um, pretty good.”

“Mmhm.”

David looked like he was waiting for Patrick to say more, but Patrick really had nothing else to say. He felt… pretty good.

“It’s just—” David began. “You seemed like you enjoyed yourself a lot last night. Um. Based on your inability to wake up this morning.”

Patrick could feel his ears turning red. “I—I’m sorry,” he said, “that you had to open the store by yourself this morning, I fell asleep so quickly last night, I didn’t get to set my alarm. You could’ve woken me up—”

“Oh no,” David said, “I tried. You were out cold. Nothing short of a genuine emergency was going to wake you up.” David looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh. Patrick felt very disoriented, because he knew that David was teasing him, but usually _he_ was the one teasing _David_. Not that David wasn’t allowed to tease Patrick, of course; that would be hypocritical. Patrick was just—unaccustomed to it.

“Some people might think that forgetting to set your alarm qualifies as a ‘genuine emergency,’” Patrick grumbled.

“Hey,” David said. “I don’t think you quite understand, um—what an accomplishment this is. Not to brag or anything, but…” David smiled. “I’m pretty proud of myself.”

“Well. You should be. I mean,” Patrick said, “if your goal was to have to open the store by yourself this morning. Then you definitely succeeded.”

David rolled his eyes. “Anyway—I actually need to head out now. I promised Stevie I’d clean the room, and those sheets _definitely_ need to be washed.”

“You shouldn’t have to do that, David,” Patrick replied. “If I recall correctly, I’m the one who made a mess of them.”

“Let’s just say it was a team effort,” David said. “Maybe tonight, I can make a mess of your sheets.”

“You do realize Ray will be home.”

“You’ll just have to find a way to keep me quiet, then.”

Patrick licked his lips. “I have a few ideas.”

“Well then. It’s a date.” David bit his lip and looked like he was about to kiss Patrick again, but then thought better of it, as if he knew that if he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

“Oh, and Patrick?” David said as he was heading out the door. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”


End file.
